


Relatively Normal

by DustToDust



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/pseuds/DustToDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is the last --alright, second to last-- person they should be asking to know what's normal when dealing with kids.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relatively Normal

**Author's Note:**

> [Kink meme](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/18271.html?thread=42724959#t42724959) prompt for deaged Tony becoming Clint's second shadow for some reason.

It’d scared him a little at first.

Clint has no delusions about who or what he is. He’s an assassin, a mercenary at best. His livelihood depended on how much death he can cause in the fewest shots possible, or how much pain he can inflict over the longest period of time. Depending on what the client wants. Just because he’s under SHIELD orders now doesn’t really change all the much for him in that regard. He’s still shooting for a paycheck, he just has the added backup of a shadowy, governmental organization behind him assuring him that what he’s doing is ‘good.’

Clint still does his own background checks on his targets —like hell he’s going to ‘yes sir, whatever you say, sir’ his way through a hit— but he’s not dumb enough to try and rationalize away the fact that he’s still a killer.

Even without that there’s still the little fact that Clint’s never really had a normal life. He has zero idea what people consider normal and that’s something that usually doesn’t bother him all that much. Clint’s never had much use for normal. Never had to know when it was alright to say some things and not others. Never had to know what was appropriate food or drink for certain times of day. Stupid shit like knowing he’s supposed to cut off the crust from PB&J sandwiches.

"You don’t waste food," Clint says resentfully as he eats the dry crusts he’d cut off after getting a stern lecture from midget Tony. The kid —actually, bonafide de-aged Tony Stark, and Doom is so getting his metal ass handed to him the next time the tyrant decides to try and yank Reed’s pigtails— doesn’t pay him one damn bit of attention. Happily and messily eating the sandwich he’d bugged Clint to make.

Kid packs it down tight. Clint doesn’t know a hell of a lot about kids, but he’s pretty sure that two sandwiches is too much for the approximate age Bruce had estimated Tony is.

"Damn, you’re a mess," Clint says as the kid starts leaving stick fingerprints on the table in elaborate patterns that might or might not be deliberate. Tony grins and giggles at him the way he does every time Clint swears. It makes Steve’s face twitch, but Clint isn’t going to hold back on his language.  
Tony’s only temporarily a child. He’s going to get fixed soon, and nothing Clint’s saying is anything he hasn’t already heard come out of Tony’s mouth. In multiple languages.

"Give me your hands, Tony," Steve comes over with a wet towel and wrestles with the boy who squirms and makes protesting noises under the attention. Clint snickers when Steve’s removed the last of the jelly from Tony’s face. Kid looks like a cat dumped into water. "Thanks, Clint."

"What’d I do?" Clint watches warily as Tony scrambles down from his chair and crawls under the table. He pushes back from the table and watches as the kid practically sits on his feet. Small fingers poking and working into the ties of his boots. Clint tries to move away, but the motion makes the kid laugh and throw his arms around his legs to hold on.

"You got him to eat," Steve says tiredly even though he’s looking down at Tony with distinctly sappy looking smile. Cap’s a pushover for kids, and it’d figure the only time he won’t snap at Tony’s antics is when his body matches his mental maturity. "We’ve tried all morning to get something into him and he wasn’t taking anything."

Clint shrugs uncomfortably as Bruce gives him a smile that’s far too serene to not be chemically induced someway. Going by the state of the kitchen when Clint walked in, the man has to have broken out his special tea. “I didn’t do nothing but what he wanted.”

Tony had been very sure of what he wanted when he attached himself to Clint. Very sure, and very _loud_ as he oversaw Clint’s construction of the sandwiches.

"We’re out of jelly and almost out of peanut butter," Bruce says as he takes the plate and empty glass of milk off the table. "I made two sandwiches that didn’t pass inspection. Steve made six. Thor was dismissed before he even got the bread out. Natasha. Well."

Clint sighs and nods. Tony goes very quiet and very still when Natasha is around. Something that makes all of them very, very nervous. The kid’s not afraid of her, but there’s clearly something in her that he sees. Something that makes him shut up and become almost terrifyingly obedient. There’s a story there that they’re all trying hard not to talk about just yet.

Hands grab his knees and Clint looks down as Tony scrambles up onto his lap. There’s a few bits of grape jelly still clinging to the corner of his mouth as he looks up at Clint. Eyes bright and almost manic with the sort of energy that most of the Avengers know to fear in adult Tony

"Clint!" Tony shrills because —like Thor— the concept of indoor and outdoor voices doesn’t seem to compute. "Clint, Clint, Clint!"

The boy tugs with each repetition of his name. Like he’s trying to get his attention even though he’s right in Clint’s face looking at him. Clint bites back the irritation he feels because he’s pretty sure it’s shitty to act like that around a kid. “What?”

Tony falls forward into his chest and his pointy little chin digs uncomfortably into Clint’s collar bone as his voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, “I have to potty.”

~

Bruce is laughing his ass off in that weirdly calm way he has when Clint comes back from the nightmare that is a child barely old enough to be trained out of diapers. “I have seen things that cannot be unseen and will haunt me for life.”

"I’m sure Tony will appreciate it," Steve says as he watches the boy scramble over to the toy box that had appeared within an hour of Tony’s condition. It’s filled with things to build. Like Legos and sticks that Clint doesn’t understand but Tony seems to do good at making into bigger things. A smile passes over Steve’s face. Wry and wicked all at once which is kind of strange to see. "He’ll appreciate it very much if we _don’t_ mention it at all."

"Hey," Clint drops into one of the smaller chairs. Comfortable but not likely to swallow him up like the other two chairs in the room will. "I’m all for denying and repressing the last fifteen minutes of my life. Far as I’m concerned? It didn’t happen."

"Clint, Clint, Clint!" A tiny ball of momentum rockets into the side of his legs and Clint grunts as something hard and pokey is shoved into his stomach. "Look!"

Clint grimaces and picks up the toy Tony’s brought over. It’s made out of the slim plastic stick and connectors Clint always used to see on the TV as a kid but never got to play with himself. There’s wheels on it and it looks strangely sturdy. “What is it?”

"A car!" Tony shrills with a pout that really hasn’t changed from the adult version. It’s strangely adorable.

"Awesome," Clint holds the car up again and can see now that the kid has actually done a pretty good job replicating the undercarriage with the sticks. It actually does kind of look like something he’d see if he went into one of Tony’s garages when the man is taking his cars apart and putting them back together again. Clint fiddles with the toy and finds out there’s a pivot or hinge in there somewhere as part of the piece flips open. "Hey, cool, you even made it so it has a door."

"Cars have to have doors," Tony says with solemnity even as he perks up and seems to preen. The car gets snatched out of his hands and Tony scampers back to the pile of things he’s playing with.

Bruce is full on _grinning_ at him when Clint looks back. Clint frowns and hunches his shoulders on instinct. “What?”

"Tony likes you," Steve says and he’s beaming in a way that set alarms off in Clint’s head. "He’s been making things all day and hasn’t shown them off to us."

"So?" Clint shrugs the observation off and doesn’t like the way the two men exchange looks.

"So," Bruce says patiently, "I think you should take over watching him."

"Oh, hell no!" Clint throws both hand up as if he can ward away the decision he already can see has been made. "No way. I’m not babys-"

"Clint, Clint, Clint!" Another impact with his legs makes Clint grunt. He looks down and Tony’s _beaming_ up at him. Teeth bright and tiny in his wide grin as he proudly holds up a toy for inspection. It appears, structurally to be the same as the first, but Clint can see it’s not. The color of the sticks is different and- "The top goes down!"

"Oh, that’s," Clint looks helplessly up at Bruce and Steve who are giving him twin shark grins as the top of the toy indeed folds down. "That’s great, Tony."

Tony shrieks in delight and runs away to his toys fast enough his socked feet skid on the floor. He drops to his knees so fast that Clint winces in sympathy pain. His fingers flying through the pile of things as he gets ready to build another thing to show off.

"Great," Clint groans and slumps in the chair. "Just really fucking great."

Bruce pats him on the head as he passes, but he doesn’t bother slowing as he follows Steve on their escape.

~

Seven cars, three tanks, one helicopter, and a dozen robots later Tony gets bored of the toys. Clint finds this out when the boy flops over his knees with a drawn out whine, “I’m bored!”

"Uh," fuck Clint doesn’t know what to do with kids. Why the hell would anyone leave one with him? "You want to watch cartoons?"

"Cartoons are for stupid kids," Tony says. Voice small but eyes hopeful as he peeks up at Clint.

"Hey," Clint protests and internally winces at the sentiment that is obviously something that has been drilled into Tony. "I’ll have you know that is so much a lie. Cartoons are for stupid adults too! Jarvis put on Transformers."

Tony giggles and Clint really hopes that this is being recorded, because Tony’s going to bust a blood vessel denying he’s a giggler. Clint stands and catches the kid before he can fall to the floor. Tony shrieks and wriggles as he throws him over his shoulder for the three strides it takes to fall onto the couch. It’s the best seat in the room for watching the TV, and it bounces a little under his weight. Tony flails and nearly catches Clint’s nose with a kick before Clint can pin the kid down.

"Come on," Clint sits up and bites back a wince as Tony ignores the wide open couch to climb right back into Clint’s lap. His knees are bony and get dangerously close to nailing Clint in the dick a few too many times for comfort until the boy deems himself comfortable. "You ready?"

"Yes!" Tony declares and seems to sink into a boneless sprawl over Clint as the opening sequence to the cartoon starts up. He’s sucked in almost instantly and Clint smirks before leaning back against the couch and letting his mind go blank.

~

"But I want to learn!" Tony protests as Clint sets him on one of the loading tables in the range. His face is wrinkled up and he looks close to throwing a fit.

"And I’ll teach you how to shoot," Clint begins and Tony instantly brightens, " _but_ we need to wait for a bow you can pull to come in. Alright?"

"I can use yours," Tony says, earnest and pleading. It’s actually the closest Clint’s seen him to begging. Tony is good at wheedling, nagging, bribing, and complaining sure. He’s never actually begged though in the entire time Clint’s known him.

"Sure," Clint shakes his head and holds his bow out to Tony. The boy gets to his feet fast and grabs for it. It’s taller than he is and Clint keeps a firm grip on it as Tony blinks in dismay. The logistics suddenly becoming clear to the boy. "Try pulling back on it."

Tony tries. He tries really hard and Clint has to bite back on the laughter that wants out as the boy goes red in the face and doesn’t manage to draw back more than an inch. Clint stops him before the kid can hurt himself. Given the chance, Tony won’t give up until he’s done what he wants. That hasn’t changed at all with his age.

"I’ll teach you," Clint promises and pushes Tony back down to sit. "We just got to get you a bow that doesn’t require more pounds to draw than you have on you."

"Pounds? Why do I need pounds to shoot?" Tony asks as he settles down to sit safely out of Clint’s way. Clint easily notches and releases an arrow. He ignores the bit of pride that flares to life at the surprised gasp he gets as the arrow hits dead center of his target.

"Pounds-force, the more pounds it takes to draw back the more force you get," Clint looses three more arrows in quick succession before turning to grin at Tony. The boy is perched precariously on the edge of the table. Rocking forward and eyes wide in awe. "Takes people a bit to work up to heavier bows. That’s why we need to wait for a bow your size to come in to teach you."

Clint lets his arm drop and curls one arm up so that the muscles in his bicep bulge. It’s an impressive sight, he’s used it a lot to his advantage when trawling bars. Tony pokes at his arm and pouts again. Clint lets the pose go and ruffles the kid’s hair. “Hey, it took me my whole life to be able to draw this much. Even I had to start with a small bow though.”

"You promise you’ll teach me?" Tony asks with a slightly suspicious air that Clint recognizes as a kid who’s had promises broken one too many times.

"Sure," Clint can’t help saying and meaning. "I’ll teach you if you still want to learn when the bow comes in."

"Ok!" Tony leans back seemingly satisfied and then he points to one of the furthest targets in the range. "Can you hit that?"

Clint can and shows Tony how easy he can do it before forgoing his usual routine and shooting all trick shots. The showy things that used to get him the most applause in the circus, and work at getting Tony worked up into a shrieking and laughing mess of a child.

He tells Jarvis to order a few bows later when Tony insists on trying to pull out some of the arrows. They’re practice arrows so Clint doesn’t feel too bad about how many the kid’s going to break off.

"Understood, Agent Barton," Jarvis says after he reels off some specifications to put in a request for. "The child sized bow should be no problem to procure. However the adult sized one may take a bit more time."

"Eh," Clint shrugs and starts to go after Tony to help. "We should have time before that’s needed."

 _If_ it’s needed, but Clint doesn’t think about that just yet as he catches Tony from falling to the ground when an arrow comes out suddenly.

"I got it, Clint!" Tony exclaims and holds the unbroken arrow up proudly to him.

"You sure did, bud," the nickname rolls off his tongue fluidly. Carson's favored name to go to for any of the circus brats who changed so frequently. Tony seems to light up even more though. "Let's get the rest and then find out if we have any ice-cream."

~

"Tony won’t say it," Rhodes says in a low voice that everyone hears but pretends not to as Tony demolishes a ridiculous amount of ice-cream. Clint hadn't thought the kid could pack it all in when he was dishing it out, but little stomachs apparently expand for sugar. "But the way he grew up. Well, he always had people who were his and people who were his Dad’s. More the last than the first."

There's an entire history there that Clint doesn't need explained. Tony's always been easy to read about certain things, and has never been shy about the fact that he has issues. Capital 'I' issues when he decides to talk about them. 

Bruce, with his intelligence and obvious scientific understanding would firmly be in Howard Stark’s circle of friends. That goes without saying. Steve is tall and stiff despite his warmth, and fairly screams military when you first meet him. Another one for Howard. Nat and Thor are a little less understandable, but Clint thinks he can make his way to sorting them out given the time. It's not really important to understand the why of it all though. Just that Clint is apparently rough enough to not be considered anyone Howard Stark would associate with.

It also rules Rhodes right out too, and Clint tries not to wonder if the man was hurt when Tony wouldn't do more than give him a perfectly polite smile that's as far from Tony's normal smiles as something can get.

"Tony always preferred following hired help around. People paid to do anything else _but_ look after him," and Clint nods because he’s pretty sure his body language had screamed _do not want!_ when Tony had flung himself at Clint earlier. "Said he could always count on them not saying some lie just for a paycheck."

Rhodes tips his mug at Clint and there’s a wry smile on his lips. “Congrats, Tony trusts you.”

The statement probably shouldn’t sound as much of a curse as it does.

~

Bath time with Tony is every bit as traumatizing as potty breaks. Clint swears as he gets soap in his eyes and Tony refuses to quit splashing. A few toys had made it into the tub despite Clint’s best efforts and they’re now weapons of splash destruction that have left Clint soaked to the bone.

He turns the water back on and gets some of the soap out before Tony starts trying to get away from the stream. “It’s cold!”

Clint shuts it off and then shakes his head hard throwing drops of cold water onto Tony that’s make him shudder and shriek. “Yeah, well it wouldn’t be so cold if you stopped throwing soap in my eyes! I need my eyes to do my job.”

"What’s your job, Clint?" Tony asks and evades Clint’s hands again when he reaches for the kid. He’s bound and determined to keep the soapy spikes in his hair.

"I’m a superhero," the answer rolls off Clint’s tongue with an ease that’s all practice and zero sincerity.

"Do you wear a cape?" Tony doesn’t hesitate in asking. He’s young enough that there’s no disbelief in him at all. "Or a mask? Oh! Do you have a robot suit?"

Clint laughs and manages to push Tony down enough start rinsing the shampoo out. The boy squirms a little but doesn’t seem to want to go under completely and is easy enough to deal with. For all of three seconds. “No, I don’t have a robot suit,” yet, Clint’s pretty sure Tony has one for him though. He’s seen the one he made for Pepper and some of the questions Tony’s thrown in his —and everyone else’s— face have been very specific. “I don’t have a mask or a cape either. I’d get it tangled up in something and trip when I’m fighting.”

Or strangle himself, he’s seen a few homegrown superheroes around the world fall for that gimmick. Hell, he’s used a cape on someone to take them down once or twice.

"I wear sunglasses though," Clint offers but Tony gives him a very unimpressed look. Kid’s hard to please. "I wear battle armor," and that seems to get some sort of interest from him. "I’ll show you it later."

It might distract the kid for a little while.

"Do you have a side kick?" Tony nearly slips as he sits up. His black hair curls a little against his face. He’s clutching a yellow rubber duck with a mustache painted on it, and his eyes are so wide they’re almost popping out. "Can I be your side kick? I want to be a side kick!"

"Sure," Clint pulls the drain on the tub and gets a grip on Tony under his arms. Swinging him up and over onto a pile of fluffy towels that had been waiting for them when Bruce gently suggested the bath before bed. "Just gotta teach you how to shoot a bow and get you a robot suit. Yeah?"

"Yeah!" Tony squirms as Clint wraps the towels around him. He only has to hold it all still and Tony’s practically drying himself off on his own.

"So what’s your name going to be?" Clint looks dubiously down at the pajamas that Nat had dropped off while they were both distracted.

"Um," Tony goes still very suddenly. Nose scrunching up comically as he thinks.

"You don’t have to think of one right now," Clint holds a shirt out to Tony who looks at the clothing blankly. There’s a bit of a mulish light in his eyes when they flick to the footie pants behind Clint, and he gets a feeling that Tony’s going to go streaking as soon as the door gets cracked open. "You got time to come up with one."

"What’s your name?" Tony asks and there’s no hiding the sly look in the boy’s face as he creeps to the door. Clint could stop him, probably should, but he’s had Tony hanging off him all day. Someone else can catch the great naked Stark.

"Hawkeye," Clint says with a grin as the boy runs for it.

Clint throws the shirt and pants over his shoulder. Taking his time to throw the towels in a hamper and gather up the toys before sauntering out to where he can hear the commotion of his teammates running after a laughing child.

~

Tony makes more noise when he’s trying to be quiet than usual and Clint fakes sleep as the door to his room creaks open. Jarvis had informed him the second the boy had snuck out of bed, and Clint hadn’t done anything. He’d had a pretty damn good idea where the boy was going to end up.

The bed barely moves under the kid's weight and Clint files that information away for consideration later. It's a potential hazard that he'll want to keep in mind.

Clint doesn't move as Tony crawls up and nestles into his side. Burrowing in under one of Clint's arms and pulling a blanket the kid must've brought with him up enough to brush against Clint's skin.

Tony settles fast and Clint almost thinks that will be it. That the kid will nod off, but he's still breathing too quick. "Clint?"

"Yeah, kiddo?" Clint doesn't bother pretending he didn't hear him, though he doesn't move to look at the boy. Tony doesn't move either.

"Will you stay long?" Tony asks and there's an obvious pause before he asks the question that they'd all expected to come out a whole lot sooner. "As long as my parents are gone or longer?"

They'd expected some question about his parents the minute they ascertained that Tony didn't remember anything past his physical age. Some question about where he was or where his caretakers were. It hadn't come. Not once, even when they were running him through medics and SHIELD scientists. Not when Steve had told him he was the real Captain America or when Hulk had shrunk down to Bruce. He hadn't seemed concerned that they brought him to the Tower where there was nothing for a kid, and everything had to be special ordered in for him.

He's not even really asking the question right now. He doesn't know where his parents are and he's not too concerned about it. Tony just wants to know how long _Clint_ is going to be around.

"Longer," Clint eventually says because it's true even if it's not true the way Tony clearly expects it to be.

"Oh, ok, good," Tony goes limp then and seems to press even harder against Clint. His breathing goes even and deep quicker than Clint expects, and that leaves Clint on his stomach and wide awake for a good long while.

~

It takes four more days to reverse what Doom did, and Clint's both relieved and slightly disappointed when a full grown Tony Stark strides out of the SHIELD labs to shake a finger at them all. "Not one word. Not one single word or I permanently set your showers to cold and make every coffee pot in a hundred mile radius give you only decaf."

As far as threats go, it's weak, but Clint will give the man a pass for being so freshly aged back up. It's the only time Tony acknowledges what happened to any of them, and things go back to normal fairly quickly. Though Clint catches himself looking backwards and down for a little body when he leaves a room once or a dozen times too often for his own peace of mind.

~

Tony's in the range when Clint wanders in for his usual practice a week later. He's holding a bow that's the perfect size and weight for him to begin learning. He flips it over and studies the whole thing with the kind of intent Clint knows means he's looking for the perfect spot to place the upgrade on. The box it had been delivered in is a mess of cardboard and packing material on one of the tables.

Clint is not as surprised as he should be to find Tony here.

"There you are!" Tony drops his arm --the one holding his bow-- and almost manages not to make it look awkward. "I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to check to see if you got kidnapped or something."

"I can sleep in," Clint protests and reaches for two quivers of arrows to bring up to the line. "I'm only ten minutes late."

"The fact that you know you're ten minutes late for your usual _unscheduled_ massacre of my targets refutes everything you've ever said about being a lazy bastard," Tony says with glee as Clint places both quivers on the stand Tony's already brought up. Clint doesn't usually use them, but Tony will need all the help he can get the first few times he practices. "Just saying, you know?"

"Shut up, Stark," Clint runs his eyes over Tony's bow. Looking it over critically, but there's nothing obviously wrong with it. Yet anyway. "Tell me you didn't play with it too much."

"Now why would I do that?" Tony asks with a look of innocence that would make nuns shudder in fear.

"Because you can and someone told you not to," Clint snorts and kicks at Tony's feet until they're in a decent enough position. He pushes Tony's left arm up and corrects his grip on the bow. Showing him how best to hold it. Talking through the positions has never been Clint's strong point. He learns better by doing, and teaches best by showing. "You thought up a name yet?"

"Fuck you," Tony says with a surprising amount of cheer considering this must be the first time someone's brought up his unfortunate time as a kid to his face. "I'm _Iron Man_ , Hawkeye, and if anyone's going to be the sidekick it's going to be you."

"I got video evidence that says differently," Clint grins and jumps back when Tony whirls around. Trying and failing to catch him with the bow.

"Lies! Utter lies! That never happened and there's no proof at all," Tony's already turning a comically betrayed look up to the ceiling though. "Right Jarvis? Jarvis?"

"I'm sorry sir," Jarvis intones solemnly and Clint is impressed once again that he can hear the laughter in the AI's voice. "I can neither confirm nor deny Agent Barton's accusations."

"On whose authority?!"

"Pepper," Clint grins at the black look that gets him. Pepper's authority codes are capable of overriding Tony's and she'd used them unashamedly to get multiple hard copies of the security footage.

"Liar," Tony whirls back around and gets back into the stance Clint had been nudging him into fairly easily. Tony might have been doing research before the bow arrived. "It's all CGI anyway. You'll be my sidekick, Iron Hawk. Already got the suit ready and color coordinated just for you."

They trade barbs as Clint shows Tony how to properly draw back --"But this doesn't even look _close_ to how you stand!" "Shut up, Stark, I'm an ex-carnie and my stance is so shitty only I can pull it off."-- and hit a target. An unopened box with a child's bow rests in the armory, and Clint only sees it once he's putting Tony's bow away. He thinks about returning it, but dismisses the thought before it can fully form.

"Come on, Susan!" Tony calls from the door. He's shifting impatiently and rolling his shoulders unconsciously from the strain of the practice session. "There's Pad Thai to eat and I'd rather not have to buy out another restaurant to get it before my stomach tries to rebel. Pepper's threatening terrible things if I do it again this month."

Clint locks the weapons back up and takes his time strolling across the range to meet Tony with a smirk on his face. They're the Avengers and sudden deaging is just weird enough that it'll probably become a regular thing with them. It's best to keep the small bow around just in case.


End file.
